Feed the Chaos
by theroguesgambit
Summary: Post "Insatiable". The Nogitsune decides to catch up with Derek. Scott and Stiles are forced to listen in over the phone, and Scott learns some surprising new things about his best friend and former Alpha.
1. Feed the Chaos

**Feed the Chaos**

The group had finally parted ways for the night, drifting out of Scott's house with slumped shoulders and swollen eyes, and not so much as a "good night" between them.

They were running out of time and they all knew it. Whatever the Nogitsune had planned, Allison would just be the start of the casualties if it had its way. Murder might not be its objective, but chaos and death tended to run together.

They'd learned that tonight.

Scott's phone rang sharply in the silence of the living room, making Stiles jump and jerk awake on the couch. He'd been falling in and out of consciousness all night, and Scott's mom had suggested he stay close to her just in case. They weren't sure she'd be able to do anything for his magical illness, but it felt safer to keep him near a registered nurse instead of at his house alone while his dad scoured the town for Nogitsune sightings.

Scott didn't seem to hear the ringing, staring out the window with sightless eyes. It wasn't until Stiles groaned and made a flailing gesture for the phone (nearly falling off the couch in the process) that he reacted, bracing Stiles' shoulder with one hand and grabbing for the phone with the other.

He grimaced.

"It's Derek."

The older wolf hadn't been by Scott's house all night, off dealing with something or other concerning the twins.

Stiles "mmmed" vaguely, obviously barely conscious.

"Does he know about…?"

About Lydia being safe? About Allison being gone? Scott didn't know, and he really wasn't in the mood to play messenger. He didn't want to think or talk or deal with _anything_, and considered ignoring the call altogether.

But a drowsy half-smile had slipped onto Stiles' face.

"Say hey to Broody Brows for me, 'kay? Haven't had a chance to… being all Dark Side and all."

It was a stupid reason to answer, but how could Scott deny his friend anything after all he'd been through? He sighed, hit "accept," and put the phone to his ear.

"_Scott!_"

Derek's voice was sharp, frantic, and Scott was immediately on alert. This wasn't just a check in. Derek wasn't the type to sound panicked for no reason. It was hard to make Derek sound panicked at all.

"Mmm here too…" Stiles mumbled, words half-swallowed by his pillow.

A heavy breath came over the line, like Derek had been running, or fighting. Or was injured.

"Derek, I'm here. What's going on?"

"Mmph hrr too…"

Scott shot Stiles a look, but his friend was completely out of it, face almost totally buried in the pillow.

"_I found him."_ Derek's breaths were still ragged. _"Or… he found me. I don't know. He came out of nowhere, and the damn Oni have switched sides for some reason…"_

Scott grimaced. Ok, he should've warned Derek about that. Someone should have thought to.

"Yeah, Derek… about that…"

He heard a sharp sound, like a sniff, and then Derek was growling_: "He's here."_

Ok, definitely not good.

"Here _where_? Derek, where are you? I'll come help."

But it didn't seem like Derek was listening. After a strained pause his voice came again, but it was more distant, like he'd moved the phone well away from his mouth.

"_I know you're here... No use in playing games, trickster. I can smell you."_

"Derek, where are you?" Scott pressed the phone closer to his ear, like that would somehow give him more information. Like trying to see more on a TV screen by leaning to the right and the left, peering at the edges. Hopeless.

"_And what do I smell like, Derek?"_ The voice, so familiar but so _wrong, _had Scott reflexively glancing to the couch to make sure Stiles was still there. Through the phone, a faint laugh, and the sound of feet scraping across a hard floor: Derek swiveling, searching out the source of the sound.

Then Derek's voice again, speaking back into the phone, sharp and rushed.

"_Scott, I'll try holding him off. We're at th—aagh!"_ A roar of pain made Scott fumble the phone. Stiles' eyes fluttered, expression twisting into a grimace.

Derek was still groaning by the time Scott got the phone back to his ear, but the sound was muffled, like another hand was grabbing over the receiver.

"_Oh, we don't need any company, do we, Derek? I already had a lot of fun with the others earlier tonight,"_ and there was so much glee in his tone that Scott knew he was being addressed as much as Derek was. _"So much delicious chaos. But you had to go and miss it." _There was the sound of something snapping, and Derek bit down on a curse. _"But don't worry. We'll make up for lost time. Bye bye, Scotty."_

"Wait!"

Another shout was wrenched from Derek, and a deafening clatter as the phone was tossed away. Scott waited, breathless, for the line to go dead.

But it didn't.

There was a moment of dead air, and Scott was lowering the phone shakily from his ear, but then…

"_That's better, isn't it?" _Not-Stiles' voice came drifting over the line, light and playful._ "And now that it's just you and me, I'll confess: I've been feeling like we need to catch up."_

A ragged growl confirmed that Derek was still breathing.

"_If it was just you and me, you wouldn't be standing right now."_

Scott frowned. Did Derek realize he was still on the line? But then there was the sound of steel sliding across a sheathe and he realized – right, the Oni. This wasn't just a matter of Derek versus the Nogitsune, like that wouldn't be bad enough. The beta wolf was way outnumbered in a fight.

"_Ooh, jumping right into the foreplay today, are we?"_ The Nogitsune's words were careless, sarcastic, sounding so much like Stiles that Scott found his lips starting to twitch before he realized what he was doing. _ "Don't mind my little smoke soldiers. They're literally made from knives that have been chopped from a fox's tail. Oh, and fireflies. No offense my little magic army here, but they're about as sentient as a set of desk lamps. It's just you and me here, Derek."_

"_Desk lamps don't impale people with swords,"_ Derek spat, and Scott's mental image of Derek kneeling in front of the Nogitsune, flanked on all sides by blade-bearing warriors, bled into the memory of Allison impaled, falling. Gone.

The Nogitsune chuckled, thoughts clearly following the same line, and the phone nearly crumpled in Scott's grip before he got control of himself.

_"But what's a little impalement between friends, right Derek? I mean… slamming people into walls, bashing heads into steering wheels… our relationship's always been right at the edge of S & M territory anyway."_

There was a short, startled pause – startled on Scott's end, anyway. When Derek answered, he sounded positively enraged.

"_Stop talking like you're him."_

"_Oh, but I am him, Derek. I lived inside his head for weeks. I know every thought, fear and fantasy he ever had. I took his knowledge and experience and _chaos_ to supplement my own. And there is just so much delicious chaos running through his teenage brain." _A slow, shuddering breath – Scott couldn't work out from whom – and the Nogitsune must have ducked in close to Derek because it was whispering, barely audible: _"And you… your instincts are so conflicted every day, aren't they? Head and heart, hope and fear. Lust and loathing. Is there anything inside you, Derek, that isn't pure chaos?"_

Part of Scott thought he probably shouldn't be listening to this. Creepy, weird voyeurism issues aside, he needed to be doing something to help Derek, not just standing here listening at the wrong end of a phone. But if he hung up, he'd lose the chance to hear any hints about where they were. He could go out looking for Derek, try to pick up a scent, but they'd tried that before when Stiles had gone missing. They'd done _everything_ before when Stiles had gone missing. Searched the whole town for hours and not been able to find him.

He could shout to Derek, try to get him to tell where he was again, but then the Nogitsune would know he was listening and smash the phone, and make sure it was broken this time.

He wasn't going to lose anyone else. Not now. Not tonight.

But he didn't know what to do.

Derek, meanwhile, let out a strained laugh. Seeming even more forced because Derek, generally? Not exactly a laugher.

"_So you gonna torture me? Kill me? Or are we just gonna chat?"_

There was the sound of movement, of Derek letting out a low, warning growl. But the creature wearing Stiles' face obviously didn't care.

"_Oh, you would like me to torture you, wouldn't you? Derek Hale, Beacon Hills' favorite furry punching bag. Beaten up, beaten down, holes torn straight through you… You know how to handle that. I think some sad little part of you actually enjoys it." _It paused, and Scott could just picture brows knitting together on the Nogitsune's face, just like Stiles' did when he was working through a complicated puzzle. _"No, that's not right. Not 'enjoys' it. But deep down in that tortured wolfy heart… you just think you deserve it, don't you?"_

Scott squeezed his eyes shut and seriously considered hanging up. And then Stiles' voice hissed over the line, slow and delighted and utterly sadistic.

"_And you're right."_

It was the kind of line that always precedes a scream, and Scott tensed for it. His hand even went to the cover the speaker because he seriously did _not_ need Stiles waking up and asking why Derek was whimpering in pain through the phone… not with how guilty he already felt about everything. But the scream didn't come. Instead, there was a soft tutting noise.

"_Oh, that's delicious, Derek. That spike of conflict inside you… And all it takes is weak, human Stiles saying you deserve to suffer—"_

"_You're _not _Stiles."_

"_Well, that's even worse, isn't it, Sourwolf? Some stranger with Stiles' face shows up, tells you you're worthless, and just like that the self-loathing comes rushing out? Where's the self confidence, man? The conviction to go with all that werewolf strength? No wonder you didn't last long as Alpha."_

Derek snarled, halfheartedly. Stiles was frowning in his sleep.

Scott felt like punching a wall. Of bricks. Repeatedly. With his head.

What was he supposed to do with any of this? The first sound he made, he'd lose his connection to Derek. If he just stood here uselessly, they'd lose Derek altogether. And if the Nogitsune was seriously planning on getting its last power boost by feeding off Derek's emo tendencies… well, it was gonna be ready to wipe Beacon Hills off the map in 20 minutes flat.

Ok, think. How could he do two things at once?

Scott was a pretty confident guy. He understood himself, knew his strengths and weaknesses, and was pretty much ok with them. He was a fighter, a hero type. He'd go diving headfirst into danger if he thought it would help... but he knew he wasn't a strategist. That's why he and Stiles made such a perfect team.

Stiles. Stiles… had a cell phone! He could text someone to help.

"_God, you are absolutely _vibrating _with a desire to kill me. Don't you realize that I'm just trying to help you?"_

Derek laughed again, voice pained, and Scott wondered exactly where he'd been impaled, how much blood he was losing. How long it'd be before he passed out.

"_Thought you were using me to… feed yourself."_

"_Well, that too. But there's no reason this can't be mutually beneficial. Think of this as the thousand therapy sessions you really should've had." _Scott had crossed the room to Stiles, knelt down over him, and was carefully reaching for the jean pocket where he kept his cell phone._ "Come on, Derek, we're pals, right? I've got all these memories, these _emotions_, bouncing around in here."_

"_Sounds like you're the one who needs a therapy session."_

Derek did scream, then, and Stiles shot up, head almost bashing into Scott's nose. Without Scott's wolf reflexes, it would have. Stiles looked around, panicked and bleary, and opened his mouth before Scott covered it, giving his best "shut up right now, Stiles" face.

Stiles did, eyes wide and locked on Scott's phone.

"_Sorry about that. We weren't going to go with the physical torture today, were we? It's just these teenage bodies, you know, and their _urges_. Sometimes it's hard to keep a handle on them."_

Scott motioned frantically to keep silent, then to the phone in Stiles' pocket. Maybe his friend was a little dazed from waking up, because he started reaching for Scott's phone instead. Scott leaned out of reach, shaking his head, but Stiles responded with a classic "shut up and let me work, dummy," expression, and Scott grudgingly handed the phone over.

Stiles hit a few buttons, then held the phone back out to Scott and said loudly:

"Ok, now what the hell's going on?"

Scott could have smacked him. Except it would've been unethical to smack his sickly best friend with werewolf strength, even if he probably had just blown their cover. He snatched the phone and put it back to his ear, but the Nogitsune was still taunting Derek like it hadn't heard anything.

He frowned at Stiles, who sighed at him.

"Uh, dude. Mute button."

Scott moved the phone from his ear, glanced down at the screen.

"Wait… what? Our phones do that?"

"_Remember how it felt yesterday, Derek? How freeing it was to just act? To let all the chaos boiling inside of you out?"_

"_You mean when I almost burned Argent to death?"_

Argent. _Allison_. Allison's eyes sliding shut. Her body going limp in his arms. Scott felt himself shudder, and Stiles' eyes jumped between Scott and the phone.

"What? What's happening? What is it?"

Before Scott could come up with an answer – did he really want Stiles to hear his evil alter ego tormenting Derek? – the other teen had already snatched the phone from his hand, hit a few buttons, and set it down on the coffee table.

"Speakerphone."

"…_bad you passed out before that ran its course. It would've been so cathartic, wouldn't it?"_

Stiles had gone about five shades paler in the last three seconds.

"What the hell is this?"

"_I was about a second from getting my brains blown out."_

"_Yes… cathartic. Come on, Derek. I know you've thought about it. You're too stubborn to ever do the deed yourself, but there's a reason you keep throwing yourself into all those impossible fights, isn't there?"_

"No, no no… Scott, what the _hell_ is this?"

"_And you know you're not the only one who's thought it. Come on, Derek, I hardly know you. We've never spoken before tonight. So where do you think all this delicious insight is coming from?"_

A long pause, and this time the Nogitsune didn't break it. It seemed content to let its words rattle around in Derek's head until finally, the wolf breathed out:_ "Stiles."_

Scott saw Stiles flinch, his eyes locked on the phone like looking away might be enough to lose the connection.

"_There you go, wolf-boy. Everything I know about you, every thought and opinion I have… that comes direct from my helpful former host. Tell me, would you consider Stiles a decent judge of the human condition?" _Another pause, and Scott waited for Derek to jump in with a sarcastic remark, a biting insult. He stayed painfully silent. _"He doesn't know how you make it from one day to the next, you know. Not with all the awful things you've done. The mistakes you've made… the deaths you caused."_

"That's not… I don't…" Stiles' eyes were bright with panic as they darted back up to Scott. "I never meant it like… _Scott_. What the hell are we doing here? Why are we just listening to this?"

Scott's own nerves were buzzing – from the sight of his friend's panic as much as anything else.

"Right. …I was gonna use your phone. Contact the twins, and…" he trailed off. Isaac? Mr. Argent? He didn't know if he could stomach disturbing them tonight.

Stiles was digging the phone out of his pocket.

"Got it, call everyone. We don't know where he is?" He glanced up long enough for Scott to give a confirming nod. "Alright, we'll get them to sniff him out. He's not possessed, he shouldn't be able to disappear on and off the radar like—"

"_Do you think anyone would even miss you? And who can blame them? Everyone who gave a damn about you died seven years ago, and it was all your fault, wasn't it?"_

There was a sharp intake of air from Stiles that almost drowned out the shuddering breath from Derek. Stiles' fingers had stopped moving on his own phone. The room was silent except for Derek's distant breaths rattling through the line.

"_You know, you're not even on their radar anymore, Derek. Now that you've lost your Alpha status, you're nothing but an afterthought to any of them. They knew about me having the Oni, you know. They were all sitting together chatting about the problem all night. Stiles, Scott. Your new friend, Chris. But not a single one of them bothered to warn you. Face it, Derek. You're not pack to them, you never will be."_

And now it was Scott's turn to feel himself turning pale. He sank down into a crouch next to the table, staring hard at the phone to avoid Stiles' eyes.

Because what the Nogitsune was saying, none of it was true… but it wasn't exactly false either, was it? He could blame not warning Derek on being distracted – they'd all been _seriously _distracted tonight – but that wasn't the real reason. Derek had never been pack the way the rest of the group was. Scott had spent so much time trying to avoid getting absorbed into _Derek's_ pack, trying to avoid being in anyone's pack but his own, he hadn't stopped to think about how the shift in power would – _should_ – affect their dynamic.

Derek had always been someone he called when he needed something. Backup, information. And that hadn't changed once Scott became Alpha. When Erica and Boyd had died, when Isaac had defected to Scott, when it _had_ become his responsibility to look after Derek.

"_What's the worst thing in the world for a wolf to be, Derek?"_

There was a hitched breath, and when Derek's voice drifted over the line it was faint, wavering, so alien that Scott was halfway convinced there must be a third person there, talking.

"_Alone."_

Scott couldn't listen. Couldn't just sit there and do nothing while his failures as an Alpha were shoved back in his face. He grabbed the phone from Stiles' limp grip, called up a group text, and started punching out a message.

"_Oh, but you're not quite alone, are you? What's that one little spark of hope wriggling in your chest?" _Stiles' shoulders jerked reflexively, lips parting and snapping back together so hard his whole jaw rattled. But the Nogitsune was laughing. _"Cora? Really, Derek. _Cora?_ Oh, that's so pathetic it's almost pitiable. She didn't come to Beacon Hills looking for _you_, Derek. She came looking because she'd heard of a Hale Alpha. I bet she was hoping for Laura, don't you? And the second you renounced your Alpha status, she couldn't wait to get away again. I mean, where is she now? She doesn't seem to have come back with you."_

"…_She's in South America."_

The Nogitsune laughed.

"_In South America? God, Derek, she went to another country to get away from you? That doesn't exactly scream of sisterly devotion, does it?"_

And that was insane. Because Derek was the one who'd brought her back there, he'd told Scott so. He'd made her stay away so she'd be safe. So why wasn't Derek _saying_ any of that? Why was he letting out a faint, pained whimper and jumping on a new thread like it was his last available lifeline?

"_I did it to save her. If I'd stayed an Alpha, she would be dead."_

The thing that wasn't Stiles laughed again, and the sound of it was _so_ Stiles, so light and careless and casual, it hurt to listen to. Even with the real Stiles sitting less than two feet from him.

"_Better dead than an Omega, Derek. Which is exactly what you reduced her to. Reduced you both to."_

Derek made a small sound, in between a snarl and a whine. Like a cornered creature trying to look tough as a last resort before it was devoured.

"_I thought you only knew what Stiles knows."_

"_But we're also excellent observers of the human condition. And I can feel the truth rippling inside you, Derek. You agree with every word I'm saying. You just need to get yourself to accept it."_

"He's twisting everything…" Stiles muttered. His nails were digging into the leg of his jeans so hard that if he were a wolf he'd be halfway dismembered by now. "That's what he does, Scott. That's what he did inside my head. He did it with Lydia, your mom…"

Scott's _mom?_ But that was a question for another time. Stiles was looking at him frantically, as frantic as he'd been when he came to Scott thinking he was a killer.

"You don't think… he thinks… I think that? I mean, he knows better than that, doesn't he?"

Derek was still breathing unsteadily. Scott wasn't sure how much of the subtler noises Stiles could pick out, but it was definitely enough to make Scott nervous.

As if he wasn't freaking terrified already.

And then all at once, Derek's breaths suddenly steadied.

"_I thought you thrived on chaos, trickster. Doesn't 'helping me work through my issues' kind of go against that?"_

There was a short pause, and Scott saw Stiles' brows furrowing. Felt his own doing the same.

"_So maybe you're right. I have no one. I'm an Omega. My pack left me before I lost my Alpha status. They were so damn desperate to get away from me that they walked straight into the Alpha pack's trap. I've dated two homicidal psychopaths. My uncle would kill anyone, including me, to get ahead, my sister can't stand the sight of me, and the rest of my family's dead. Life sucks, I've known that a long time. So what the _hell _are you gonna use on me now?"_

There was the Derek that Scott knew. The cool tone, the snark. For the first time since Scott had picked up the phone, Derek finally sounded like himself. He felt like giving the air a one-two punch, but Stiles' expression – somewhere between fascinated and absolutely devastated – stopped him.

"_Oh, that's good," _the Nogitsune murmured. Its voice echoed Stiles' expression… without the devastation thrown in._ "That's skill. You use your chaos as fuel, don't you? Of course you do. How else would you have survived this long?"_

"_So what. The hell. Are gonna use on me?"_

"_This."_

There was a shuffle of movement, but not the grunt of pain Scott was expecting. Instead there was a surprised huff from Derek, the start of an objection before it was swallowed by… something. A gasp of air, clothes rustling faintly, and the distinct sound of two bodies being suddenly crushed against each other. Stiles went tense, and his surprised whine blended strangely with the Nogitsune's satisfied moan.

Moan. Because it was… it and Derek were…

Then Derek made a sound, and that was weirder than anything else so far. It was high, sharp, desperate. _Longing_. And Scott's eyes flicked to Stiles, prepared to say something about how this was getting strange, how it didn't mean anything, it was just because Derek was lonely or caught off guard, or something like that. But Stiles' cheeks had gone strangely flushed, and his pupils were a little too dilated as he stared down at the phone, and his breaths were coming in too heavily to be normal.

And then there was another sharp sound of movement and Derek's voice, rougher than before, snarled, _"What the fuck are you doing?"_

The Nogitsune sounded breathless. Sounded like Stiles, sounding breathless.

"_Like I said, all these teenage hormones."_

Stiles' cheeks were going redder, and Scott was starting to feel a seriously suspicious clenching in his chest because… no way. Stiles was just embarrassed for Derek, right? Because… Scott would know if there was something else going on there.

Derek made a faint noise again, like a warning, but it wasn't nearly as threatening as it should've been. And when the Nogitsune spoke again it was barely words, almost a moan.

"_You cause chaos inside of me, Derek. You're the only one who can feed me like this."_

Stiles shot to his feet, and paced away from the table so fast that Scott thought he was leaving the room. But he turned at the last second and paced back, hovering at the edge of the table. Literally vibrating with… some kind of emotion.

And it'd be a lot easier for Scott to convince himself it was just anger if he couldn't literally smell his friend's lust.

Beneath the confusion, the general weirded-out-ness of listening to a demon fox with Stiles' voice come on to Derek, Scott started to feel angry… and guilty. Why wouldn't Stiles tell him about this? Didn't he trust him? Did Scott give off the impression he wasn't trustworthy, or understanding, or… He told Stiles everything. About Allison, about his wolf problems, about Kira. Did Stiles think he was a worse friend? Why wouldn't he ever mention something this huge?

"_Stop it._" Derek tried to snap the words, but his voice shook.

"_I can't, Derek. I can't stop. I want this too badly."_

Derek let out a wild noise, the kind someone makes when they can't hold it in.

"_You're not him…"_

"_Do you want me to be?"_

"_No!"_

It came out fast and harsh. From his place at the edge of the table, Stiles flinched. And the guilty frustration worked through Scott again.

"_Good," _Stiles' voice – _not_-Stiles' voice – growled out, low and muffled, like it was being spoken against something. A shoulder, a throat._ "Because I don't want to share."_

There was a quick shuffle of movement again, and Scott hated not seeing what was going on. And then he got a mental picture of what _might_ be going on, which was worse. And then Derek snapped.

"_You're pretty confident for a 'chaotic teenager'."_

When the Nogitsune spoke up again, it sounded decidedly frustrated. Score one point for Derek. He must have shoved it away.

"_Chaotic teenage _urges_. But the mind of a fox. And I've got the distinct advantage of feeling what you're feeling. Your personal chaos ramps up every time I come near you." _The anger was gone from the voice as fast as it had come. Suddenly soft again, predatorial. Scott could picture the creature circling Derek, stalking around him. Except the creature had Stiles' face, and the idea of Stiles stalking was just too bizarre to imagine.

"_Do you know anything about foxes, Derek? Our habits, our customs? We don't have packs like wolves, but we don't travel alone either. We search the world until we find one perfect mate."_

Stiles was blinking quickly, head shaking in odd, startled twitches.

"We… um. We need to…"

"_Foxes and wolves don't exactly get along."_

"_Oh come on, Derek. Don't tell me you didn't grow up on Disney." _Stiles let out a short, nervous laugh, probably picturing Derek as a big-eared cartoon dog. Or maybe picturing something totally different. Scott obviously didn't know his friend as well as he'd thought._ "Besides, remember how I thrive on chaos? I love a little conflict."_

Derek breathed something, a curse. And then there was a strange, wet, sliding sound, and Derek grunted again. A clatter of metal on concrete.

"_There we go. I guess this whole propositioning might go a little better if you're not impaled."_

Derek snarled.

"_I'm gonna heal in thirty seconds and then I'm gonna rip out your spleen."_

"_You won't. You want to, but you won't. Because you know, deep down, that you don't want to be alone. And I have the perfect solution."_

There was the sound of a kiss – that was _definitely _a kiss – and Derek growling again.

"_You're a psychotic killer."_

"_I'm a psychotic _trickster_. Anyway, you've had psychopaths before. I think you might actually prefer us."_

And now it was Stiles – real Stiles – who made a faint whining noise in his throat. Scott shot him a look (it was hard to look at him suddenly, knowing there were who knows how many secrets between them) and saw that he looked a strange mix of hopeful and nauseous.

"Are they actually arguing the logistics of this?"

"Do you _want_ them to be?" Scott snapped. And immediately regretted it at the wounded, deer-in-headlights look Stiles shot him.

It's not that Scott cared (did Stiles think he'd be the type of person to _care_?) but then… of course he _cared_, because it was Derek.

Couldn't Stiles like Danny, or some inappropriate professor, or something like that? Really, _Derek?_

"Scott, it's not like… he twists things. You know he twists things."

"But he's not twisting this, is he?"

Scott was almost shaking – guilt, anger, guilt, confusion, hurt… Why hadn't Stiles wanted to tell him? Why hadn't Scott ever noticed? There had to have been signs, right? Signs that Scott had just shrugged off or read completely wrong. But he shouldn't have _had _to read them right. Stiles should have told him.

"_Come on, Derek. I thought you were all about accepting things today. You can have me. We can have this. Come on. Touch me… and fuel the chaos inside me." _He paused… and Stiles eyes were squeezed shut now, hiding from the world or the words or even just Scott. _"Or don't, and feed me with the chaos inside yourself."_

Wait… that was it.

Scott reached out, hit a button, and ended the call.

Stiles' eyes shot open, looking nervous for a second, then angry.

"Scott, what the hell?"

"He knew we were listening."

Scott didn't know how, but he knew he was right. Whether the phone had been facing up but out of Derek's eyeline, or the Nogitsune could just sense their emotions even from this far away. Honestly, he was betting on the latter, because…

"It wasn't just trying to rile Derek up. The things it chose to taunt him with... I mean, it could've focused on anything. On Laura's death or Jennifer or... Paige, but what did it talk about? How I've been a crappy Alpha, and how you…"

Stiles' mouth thinned out. Then he nodded.

"It was feeding on the chaos from all three of us."

"From riling us all up," Scott confirmed.

"From turning us against each other."

Stiles was looking away, his hands clenching and releasing. He looked ready to shrink into a corner, or run. Scott took a breath and, with an effort of will, forced his own feelings aside.

"I'm not against you, Stiles. I'm… frustrated that you thought I _would_ be."

Stiles blinked back at him – confused, and then guilty.

"Man, it's not that. I'm just… I don't even want to think about it, you know? It's _Derek_. Mr. Broody, Inscrutable Sourwolf. Who's had multiple, hot-if-evil girlfriends. I mean, it's not like anything was ever gonna happen. I just…" he grimaced, head shaking. "Thought it'd be better to try and forget about it."

Scott fought a grimace, not wanting to give his friend the wrong impression again. The idea of his best friend subjecting himself to getting emotionally involved with someone as emotionally _stunted_ as Derek…

But it wasn't about what Scott wanted. And he had to let Stiles know things were ok between them.

"Well… it sounds like it's more possible than you thought."

He knew it was the right thing to say when Stiles grinned, eyes lighting up and smile getting so wide Scott thought he must've been holding it in for the past five minutes.

The Nogitsune probably wasn't happy right now, because Scott wasn't seeing any more emotional chaos anywhere around Stiles.

"Right? I mean… _right?_ Dude, he feels _chaotic_ every time I get near him. I just… I don't really know how to process this information."

Scott snorted.

"You know, if you ever say any of this around Derek, he _will _rip your spleen out."

"Oh, I know. I'm just gonna let it float around in my head for a while. Savor it. And possibly write it down. And frame it. And put it on our nightstand when we move in together."

"Too much information, man."

Stiles started laughing, and Scott joined right in with him. It lasted a good twenty seconds, and probably woke up his mom, but he was sure that each moment was like digging a dagger straight into the Nogitsune's chaos-loving chest.

When they finally calmed down, Stiles' face sobered fast. He flashed Scott one more quick, nervous smile before that bled away too.

"He's still in serious trouble, isn't he?"

Scott nodded, starting to feel shaky himself. He'd never wanted to see Derek get hurt in general, but the idea stabbed into him harder now that he wasn't just Derek. He was _Stiles_' Derek. The guy his best friend loved. The way Scott had loved Allison.

He wasn't going to let Stiles go through that too.

"Yeah, but we're gonna get him out of it. Come on, ok? Let's go save your future boyfriend."

.-

Fin

.-

**A/N: **I might post a second chapter from Derek or the Nogitsune's POV, starting where the phone call left off. Let me know if you'd like to read more!

And in the meantime, head over to the companion piece, "Taste the Chaos", if you want to see the scene from Derek's point of view. It's a little darker (no Scott or Stiles banter to lighten that piece up).


	2. Chaotic

**PLEASE READ:** I had a hard time deciding where to put this chapter. Over on AO3 I have this story set up as a series (three separate pieces connected as part of the same arc). But here it makes more sense to stick the story together so people get updated when I post new chapters. I seriously recommend checking out FtC's sibling piece, "Taste the Chaos", which shows the whole last chapter from Derek's POV and gives a lot of insight into where his head's at. But for the sake of this story's flow I'm going to stick the end of TtC here as well so you can see what happens after Scott & Stiles hang up the phone.

**.- TASTE THE CHAOS, ending -.  
**

The sword was tugged from his chest and Derek allowed himself to crumple, the pain worsening and easing in violent throbs that sent his flesh tingling as it finally started to heal. Distantly, he heard the blade clatter to the ground. And the Nogitsune crouched over him, running a hand fondly down his cheek.

"There we go." It seemed pleased, but not mocking. There was something about it, suddenly, that felt strangely sincere. "I guess this whole propositioning might go a little better if you're not impaled."

Derek wrenched his head to the side, snarling. Like he'd be fooled by _softness_ again_._ It was going to regret pulling that sword out of him.

"I'm gonna heal in thirty seconds and then I'm gonna rip out your spleen."

The wound was knitting together rapidly, throbs of pain not-quite threatening to make him pass out. He was still lightheaded from blood loss – could he blame everything on being lightheaded from blood loss? – and he felt cold without the touch of those hands on his skin.

Thirty seconds. He'd give himself thirty seconds, and then he'd fight his way out.

"You won't." It leaned over him, and Derek felt a spark of heat he didn't know what to do with. Pull it close, push it off. He'd been alone for too damn long, and the fox knew it. Just like Jennifer had known it. That's why she'd played up the big hopeful eyes and the instant crush. That's why the Nogitsune was saying this now.

"You want to," the demon conceded as Derek stared up at it, hate and longing. "But you won't. Because you know, deep down, that you don't want to be alone. And I have the perfect solution."

A _mate_. A companion. Never being alone.

It grabbed Derek's shirt and tugged. And Derek let it kiss him, and tasted its hunger, and wondered what it would be like to give in to it. Maybe he'd feel warm again before it tore him apart.

Thirty seconds.

He launched into motion, twisting and pinning the creature to the concrete. One arm braced against its throat, the other, claws extending, pressed over its heart. But once he had it pinned he paused.

This was it. One blow and it could be over.

…Could he handle it being over?

"You're a psychotic killer," he snarled, reminding himself, and the nails dug in.

The demon stared up at him, fearless. Fond. _Honest._

"I'm a psychotic _trickster_," it corrected. "Anyway, you've had psychopaths before. I think you might actually prefer us."

Kate had seemed too good be true until she had been. Jennifer had said everything he'd needed to hear, until he'd learned everything she said was a lie.

But it had felt good until it hadn't. And this could be better. This time he'd see it coming.

This time it would be with the one he really wanted… or as close as he'd ever get.

"Come on, Derek." It shifted faintly beneath him. Its eyes fluttered, unsteady. They had always been steady before. "I thought you were all about accepting things today. You can have me. We can have this." And its voice had gone husky, harsh with impatience, its hands coming up to clutch Derek's hips. "Come on. Touch me… and fuel the chaos inside me."

And then, with seeming effort, the hands dropped. The creature's face had taken on a gleam of frustration, like it actually wanted this. Like it was more than a game. Like the idea of not getting it was too much to bear. Deep inside, Derek felt his wolf growl in matching frustration.

"Or don't," the fox said, blinking fast, breathing heavy. "And feed me with the chaos inside yourself."

Damned if he did and damned if he didn't, huh?

His own breaths shuddered as he hovered over the creature, a clenched fist from killing it, a dipped head from kissing it. Its eyes slid shut, reveling at his conflict... And maybe it was pride, more than anything, that had Derek's fingers digging harder into its chest.

He'd been alone for this long. He knew how to handle it.

When the Nogitsune's hand went up to press against his chest, he thought it was trying to shove him away. But then he felt something small wriggle against his flesh, going from its hand into his still-healing wound. Derek straightened fast, staring down, but whatever it was had already disappeared beneath his skin.

Sickened, shocked, he looked back to the creature, who was lounging beneath him, smiling, hands going back to casually support his head.

"What the hell was that?"

The demon shrugged.

"I hate running repeats, Derek, but you're so damn stubborn I guess you just need the extra push. I want it on record that you forced my hand. I so wanted that chaos to come out all on its own."

Derek's fist clenched, an overwhelming urge to hit the creature surging through him. And as soon as he thought it he was moving, slamming his fist into the demon's face. It laughed, spitting blood, and then Derek had it by the collar, tugging it up and crushing their mouths together.

And _hell_, why had he been fighting this? Why had he been fighting anything?

When it was so much better, so much easier, to do what he wanted? To let himself _feel_?

He slammed the demon back into the concrete and followed it down, lips going to its throat, teeth skimming over the tender flesh, breathing in the scent of blood and Stiles and lust.

"You'll come around to this on your own," the demon breathed, arching its neck and digging welts into Derek's sides. "But for now just let yourself feel it. Taste how good chaos can be."

And Derek did.

** .- CHAOTIC -.  
**

"So I'm starting to rethink this whole 'confessing my deep, undying love to Derek' idea."

They were in Stiles' Jeep, skating down a side road at sixty miles per hour. It was about three minutes after the "so I guess I'm gonna confess my deep, undying love to Derek" declaration had taken place. The windows were down despite the cool night air, and Scott dragged his attention away from trying to distinguish _anything_ useful from the thousands of mundane scents floating around, to shoot his friend a skeptical look.

"Ok, first? Could you possibly chill out with phrases like 'deep, undying love' for a little bit? I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you didn't spend all that time talking about Derek because he scares you."

Stiles' fingers were beating fast and unsteady across the wheel, drumming along to some rapidfire chase music that only he could hear.

"Oh, no. Yeah, no, he definitely scares me. Not missing any memos on the whole 'creature of the night, able to rip my throat out with one little love-bite' situation. I definitely respect the wolfy superpowers, and that goes for both of you so don't you go feeling left out there, man. I mean, it's not a love-bite issue with you, obviously—"

Scott jumped in, trying to stall his friend's ramble before it hit a whole new level of disturbing.

"Ok, so is that why you don't want to tell him? The… 'love-biting'…possibility…?"

Stiles pulled a face, swinging the Jeep around a corner so fast he almost tumbled sideways in his own seat. Once he and the car had both recovered, he sent his friend a skeptical glance.

"No, Scott. I don't think he'd _actually_ rip my throat out while we were necking. I mean… probably. He hasn't done that with anyone else. That we know of. Right?"

Scott's hand went to rub his forehead, something like "dude, if I was ever this crazy talking about Allison..." about to escape his mouth before he tensed, feeling sick. For a second there, he'd actually forgotten.

What was it Mr. Argent had said to him before he'd left the house that night? Compartmentalize. He couldn't think about it now. Deal with the Nogitsune and Derek, and his friend's impending breakdown, and then maybe he'd survive to think about… everything else, later.

He forced his brain back on track, trying to pick up the lost thread of the conversation. Stiles, preoccupied by imagining Derek necking him or ripping his throat out or something, didn't notice his friend's stumble.

"Ok…" Scott leaned his head back into the wind whipping through the window and drew in a deep breath. "Well if that's not it then I'm at a loss, dude. 'Cause you pretty much lucked into the best bit of pre-confession eavesdropping a guy could hope for."

"No, no no, see… that's what I thought at first too, but I've been running through the conversation on like nonstop, high-def replay since you hung up the phone." And that answered the Where is Stiles' Brain At question, at least. "And the more I think about it the more I'm realizing… he never actually said that he likes me. He never said anything vaguely sort of like that. In fact, I remember him saying very, very firmly that he did _not_ want me to be there."

Stiles' palms were beating into the wheel now, eyes moving with unnecessary interest over every hedge and house and street sign they whipped past.

And Scott really wasn't sure he was up for playing "Stiles and Derek relationship counselor" right now for more reason than one, but… well, his friend needed him. And if your friend needs to have weirdly awkward conversations about the romantic feelings of your emotionally stunted, slightly scary former Alpha, you do it.

Besides, conversation helped. Thinking about trying _not_ to think about all those mental images helped. Filled up his brain. Distracted him from other thoughts.

"Ok, how about the whole 'he feels chaotic around you' thing?" And also the making out. And the _noises_ during the making out. That was something Scott could've lived without hearing.

"Yeah, but no, because he feels chaotic around the… the evil me thing. The Nogitsune."

"That looks exactly like you."

"Right, but maybe that's incidental. Maybe Derek's looking at it thinking, 'wow, demon fox, I'm super attracted to your dark evilness and your love of torturing things. It's too bad you're stuck looking like gangly awkward teenage Stiles, but I guess I can put up with it.'"

"Dude, seriously?"

Stiles' shoulders had started to shrink inward. The car to a stop outside the twins' apartment complex, and Stiles turned to face Scott, not quite meeting his eyes.

"Tell me no. I mean it, tell me that you're definitely, 100% sure that Derek's attracted to my awkward, non-wolfy, teenage gangly-ness."

.-

"Shirt off. Now."

They'd somehow made it off the cool cement floor, gotten as far as the broken down subway car before Derek decided that movement was getting too much in the way of touching. So he'd pinned the demon to the side of the car hard enough to dent steel and savored the way it winced, its hands clenching into his sides, bruising.

Now it looked up at him, eyes glinting.

"Make me."

Sparks were going off in Derek's mind, flaring bright and burning out in hot jolts that made it impossible to think, to concentrate on anything besides what he wanted and the fastest path to getting it. He matched the demon's gaze, teeth baring, and the shirt tore away at the slightest drag of a bared nail.

And if his claw bit into the Nogitsune's skin, beading up a trail of blood across that taut, pale flesh, well…

Call it holding a grudge, but the thing _had_ impaled Derek and broken his arm not twenty minutes ago. He wanted to fuck the demon, that didn't mean he was happy with it.

"I'm gonna kill you," he promised, and meant it, tugging the ragged remains of the shirt off its shoulders, dragging a hungry hand up the stretch of exposed skin. Stiles' exposed skin. This was the way Stiles' skin would look, the way it would feel running against his palm… and it was just skin and shouldn't all skin feel the same? But nothing had ever sent thrills through him like this – nothing so simple, anyway. This was unique.

Or maybe he'd just never let himself feel this much before.

"Priorities, Derek. Screw me now, worry about killing me later."

Sparks flashed in his brain, and there wasn't anything beyond flesh, heat and "screw me," and not being alone.

.-

The twins' apartment had been worse than a bust. The pair had started out being less than helpful, and when they'd been filled in about Lydia being safe and Allison being… well, they'd gone from unhelpful to "get the hell out of our apartment before you bring a bunch of angry, murderous Oni down on us k bye" real fast.

So all they'd left with was that Derek had dropped the twins off a little over an hour before - which they'd already known - and that the twins wouldn't stick their necks out to save anyone but themselves (and possibly Lydia and Danny), which they'd pretty much already figured.

"What the hell?" Stiles was a mass of angry nerves as the pair stalked out of the building, looking like he wanted to go back there and punch someone, knowing it'd be a suicide move. "I mean… seriously, Scott, what the hell? I thought they liked you, wanted to be in your pack or whatever. I can't believe they slammed the door in your face."

Scott, forcing his fists to unclench, was taking the rejection more gracefully. Only one of them was allowed to freak out at a time. Best friend rules.

"They're scared, dude. I mean, after tonight, after…"

He trailed off when his eyes fell on Chris Argent, standing, arms crossed, against the side of Stiles' Jeep. The man was tense, stiff, and with that same determinedly dead-eyed look he'd been wearing since he'd carried Allison from the courtyard, since he'd told Scott in no uncertain terms that he would allow himself to feel again only once the demon was dead.

It wasn't really surprising that he'd responded to Scott's text about the newest problem, just like it wasn't surprising that the matching messages to Lydia and Isaac had gone ignored. Scott doubted either of them was in a state of mind to even check their phones.

He hadn't messaged Kira. Part of Scott had reasoned it wasn't really her fight. She hardly knew Derek, after all, and she'd done more than enough sticking her neck out for his friends already anyway. The less rational part of him realized he just didn't want her anywhere near the Nogitsune. Not now. Not after Allison. Scott was only barely holding it together by not thinking about it, but if something happened to Kira too…

"Did they give you any information at all?" Argent's voice was an even, toneless growl, and Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Oh my freaking—_hey_, Mr. Argent. You're doing some really good blending in with the shadows, there."

The street _was_ actually pretty dark, Scott realized, noticing for the first time that the nearest three streetlights had blown out. He didn't really need their light to see, so he hadn't thought about it.

Didn't flickering lights usually signal something pretty bad, pretty powerful, going down?

Argent was uncrossing his arms and lowering them (precise, even movements) to his sides. Scott cleared his throat.

"They just said that Derek dropped them off here to finish healing up, and haven't heard from him since."

"Yeah," Stiles snapped, raising his voice and scowling back toward the building, where the twins were doubtless listening to everything they were all saying. "And apparently they're just out, now. Heading for the hills. Doesn't matter that he_ just saved their hides_. Whatever, right? They've given him up for de—"

He cut himself off, wincing, venom draining from his tone as fast as the color from his cheeks. He glanced to Scott who looked away, grimacing, and over to Argent.

"I mean…"

Argent's eyes had slid for just a second, his fingers clenching into a fist before pointedly straightening out.

"No, you're right, Stiles. They've given up. But they're wrong to. We aren't losing anyone else to this thing, do you understand me?"

Both boys found themselves nodding and Stiles, without a hint of irony, uttered a faint, firm "yes, sir."

"Good. Now you both have to think. Where's the closest place Derek would run to for safety?"

.-

The goal of the game had shifted, somewhere down the line.

It _was_ still a game – the Nogitsune would argue that everything in this world was part of somebody's game. It was just a matter of knowing the pieces, the players, and what the ultimate prize was.

At the moment, that prize included Derek.

The wolf's skin was hot, feverish, as it fell back against the demon. Effects of the bug burning through him or maybe sheer lust, and the demon's body surged against it, bare flesh sliding against the other's blood-slicked shirt.

And there was a part of the demon, a very small, Stiles-shaped section of brain matter, that couldn't quite wrap its head around the fact that this was happening. _Finally happening._ Conflict thrilled through it – lazy confidence warring with heady rushes of almost-panic – and it smirked against the wolf's bruising mouth.

Aftershocks of its former host.

The demon floated joyfully through its own chaotic nerves – echoes of lust, longing, and inadequacy – and hooked a calf around Derek's thigh. He reacted immediately, gripping the leg, pulling it up and angling their hips so they ground together in a way that made them both break from the kiss, gasping. But staying still wasn't an option for either of them, and Derek's hand was clutching the other leg, tugging it up to wrap around his hip, his nails digging welts in the demon's thighs. And the Nogitsune pressed against the cool steel of the dented train car and used the katana-sized hole in Derek's shirt to tear it open, exposing a set of nearly-healed, bloodstained abs you could bounce a small boulder off of. A distant voice in its mind seemed to breathe _show off_ even as it decided they _weren't _shown off nearly enough.

A hand drifted out to trail over the lines of hard muscle, but the fox glanced up as Derek, startled, went still. Pale green eyes, almost silver, were searching the demon's face like they weren't quite sure what they were seeing.

He wasn't comfortable with the softness. Didn't know if he wanted it.

_Wouldn't get it._

"I've missed this," the demon explained, shrugging, raking its fingers more roughly against the still-damaged flesh. Derek's eyes went hooded, right hand releasing its grip and bracing heavily against the bent steel car. God, this was so easy. He wanted it so much.

And pain, unlike softness, Derek knew how to deal with.

"Skin on skin," the demon breathed, feeling Derek shudder.

And it _was_ true; it had missed this. Not much of this happening when you were stuck inside the body of a bandaged burn victim or trapped within someone's mind.

And Derek's whole body was an open wound now, the effects of the infection sparking through him, shutting out any attempts to control his own reactions. He had no restraint, no control. He was the absolute definition of chaos, and the Nogitsune had never witnessed anything so beautifully devastating.

There was no question of how much of this desire came from the fox, and how much from the boy whose form it occupied. It didn't work like that; they were one. The Nogitsune was a spirit creature, with no true body of its own. It could exist alone, but was only truly whole when it had a host. And while its drive, purpose, _raison d'etre_, was always the dissemination of chaos, its methods were tempered by the minds of those it possessed.

Its last body had burned for vengeance, and that had manifested itself in mass murder, an endless bloodbath, before it had been defeated. This body… this body burned for Derek. For _acceptance_. For a hundred other petty, oh so human pursuits that were as fun to manipulate and rail against as they were to surrender to. Designing riddles, planning strategies. Preying on poor Scott's oh so predictable empathy and forcing him to absorb the suffering of others. The demon was Stiles now nearly as much as it was the Nogitsune, and would be until it was called away to a new host.

And so it had been inevitable that the creature would find its way to Derek eventually.

Of course, its original plan had been to taunt and toy with the wolf until he broke. Maybe it still was. But there were other urges to satisfy first.

"You think you've been alone a long time, Derek?" It couldn't stop the words from escaping. The power of physical sensation and the echo of that boy in his brain making the demon lose track of itself. "Try a century or so. See how you feel."

Derek's hand clenched on his thigh. A nearly sweet, protective, _possessive_ caress that belied his true feelings even as he snapped "Am I supposed to feel sorry for you?"

The demon's eyes rolled and it leaned in, nails raking against Derek's scalp.

"You're not _supposed_ to feel anything but what you're feeling, Derek. Don't you get that yet?"

.-

There weren't words to describe the sensations sparking through him. Or if there were, Derek couldn't think of them, and that didn't matter because he was _feeling_ them.

And God, he could feel everything.

His own desperate growl reverberating through him, pliant lips and aggressive hands responding as he drove the creature against the wall, kissing hard, hungry and deep.

And part of him knew he should be fighting this, and most of him didn't care, and every part of him was just glad he didn't have that option anymore because what better excuse for taking everything you've ever wanted than 'I literally don't have a choice'?

Then the heat of the demon's thighs was gone from his hips but there was a heady rush of motion and then _Derek _was being slammed, chest first, against the cold train car. Heat crowded in behind him, a hand sliding up his back and trailing across the smooth curves of his tattoo.

"I _have_ missed this," Stiles' voice breathed against his ear, and it sounded soft and sincere and prickles of dread ran through him because Jennifer had sounded soft and Kate had sounded sincere… but then the demon's chest was pressing against his back and the hand wrapped around to claw slowly up his chest, nails digging deep enough to leave welts in their wake, so rough that Derek could feel them bump over every rib as they traveled upward.

It wasn't soft and it wasn't sweet and it transformed the start of a tremble into a satisfied shudder because pain was _honest_. Pain, he could trust. People didn't dig welts into your chest if they were planning on stabbing you in the back.

"I've never had this," he breathed, not able to stop the words from escaping, not able to even try.

The demon's lips were grinning as they kissed hard into his neck, as teeth dragged savagely across the line of his jaw. As the hand trailed down again, skating across his waist and thumbing open the button of his jeans.

"_Coup de foudre,_" it breathed, and the sparks were flashing through Derek so fast and hot he could hardly hear it. "You have me, Derek. Do what you want to me. I'll take what I want from you. I'm not going anywhere."

And after everything that had gone wrong in Derek's life, that was all he really needed.

.-

They were definitely at the right place.

Stiles didn't have any special spider-senses to help him out with that one, but he didn't need them. Even he could pick out the black-red puddle of blood staining the center of the dimly lit room.

"Puddle" was an understatement. Didn't even come close to describing the four-foot wide semi-circle of viscous crimson coating the ground like a throw blanket. And that wasn't even counting the other, smaller stains smudged across the floor, or the blood still clinging to the discarded sword, or…

It was too much, too much blood. Anyone who'd lost that much wouldn't still be walking around to talk about it. Anyone who'd lost that much blood would have to be—

The ground seemed to be wobbling around under Stiles, and wow was this a bad time for an earthquake, right? Except then Scott was gripping his arm and the room stopped wobbling and unless Scott had some kind of werewolf earthquake-stopping superpowers he didn't know about, that meant he'd been the one wobbling, not the room.

Right. Ok.

He drew in a breath and forced himself to look away from the blood, over to Scott. Scott, who was a werewolf. Just like Derek. And they could heal faster, they could survive worse than any normal human could. Derek was ok.

If he wasn't ok, his body would be lying here with all the blood.

"Where—" he started, softly, but stopped when Argent held up a hand, caught his gaze, and shook his head. Then he flicked two fingers out toward the blood and forward, and Stiles had never gone on any commando-soldier hunting retreats, but he was able to follow that signal easy enough. He steeled himself and looked back toward the blood puddle (lake, ocean, freaking _body_. Get it, body? Haha…) and, trailing his gaze further, was able to make out a cluttered mass of footprints leading toward the subway car. Then there was the dented metal smeared with blood, and, fainter, smudges of red dragging along the side of the car until they reached the doors.

They hadn't left. They were here, right inside. The Nogitsune/body thief/killer-slash-Derek abductor was less than 10 yards away, hidden by a thin wall of steel and smudged glass.

Scott's nostrils were flaring, his eyes glowing an eerie red in the dim light, but he was grimacing and it was obvious he couldn't make anything out past the scent of the blood.

Argent held up a hand again – _wait_ – and took a soundless step forward.

And Stiles' laughter started echoing in his own ears.

It sounded higher than usual, but maybe that had something to do with it being unintentional crazy-person laughter, and his hand had made it all the way to cover his own mouth before he realized the sound wasn't actually coming from him. He dropped the hand, relieved, except… wait. Was that better or worse?

Because if Stiles wasn't bursting into random hysterics, that meant the demon with his voice was laughing at them.

Argent's crossbow was up and aiming in clipped intervals between shadows, and Scott's nails had clenched into Stiles' arm so sharply he'd probably need stitches.

And Stiles couldn't drag his eyes away from the battered train car because, no matter where the Nogitsune had ended up, that's where the trail led. That's where Derek was. And what the hell were they going to find when they went in there?

"So the cavalry arrives to save the day." The demon's voice, light and laughing, seemed to dance off the walls, echoing from everywhere at once. "Have you ever noticed how the cavalry never arrives in time to do anything useful? No matter how fast they run, how hard they try, they only ever show up in time to carry the broken pieces home. It's a real flaw in the whole heroic scheme of things, wouldn't you say, Christopher?"

Stiles' eyes flicked to Argent. His hands were clenched white on his crossbow.

"Why don't you come out and we'll see how useful I can be."

Scott released Stiles' arm (and oh good, it wasn't gushing blood and he still had feeling in it and those were probably all good signs on the stitches front) and started stalking in slow circles around him like an honor guard. Which might've been nice if it didn't show that Scott was completely terrified for Stiles' safety _and _felt completely helpless to do a single thing about it.

"What..." the demon's laugh seemed to come from behind Stiles, the next words echoing from the shadow on the left. Constantly moving. "Are you going to shoot me with one of your silver arrows, Argent? I'm not as easy to kill as my Oni."

"Maybe," the hunter growled, "But shove an arrow through just about anything's eye and you're bound to slow it down."

It laughed again, and Stiles really wished it would stop doing that. Because it was using his voice, damn it, and he didn't like having his own sadistic laugh ringing in his ears.

"Oh, taste all that repressed rage. A soldier's training: every reaction so tightly controlled. You might be almost as fun as Derek."

And Stiles couldn't just stand here acting useless while his evil alter ego taunted his dead friend's dad. He took a jerky step forward.

"Where the hell is Derek?"

He was still staring at the train car so he was the first to see the movement, the shift in the shadows along the door. A sharp, warning noise escaped his throat, but then the figure moved out into the moonlight.

"I'm here," Derek said.

And he was.

Since Scott had hung up the creepy/hot voyeuristic phone call, Stiles had been steeling himself to discover a whole array of terrifying things when they found him: half-dead-Derek, totally-dead-Derek, Derek with missing limbs or his insides dangling out like some slasher movie victim, or just curled up in a corner, half-crazy from mental torment. But the Derek that stood in the doorway of the train car, 12 feet from literal pints of his own blood, seemed totally and nerve-wrackingly normal.

"You're… there," Stiles echoed, nonplussed.

There wasn't even a hole or any blood on his pale blue shirt from when he'd been stabbed. His jeans, while worn to the point of shredding in places, didn't have a drop of blood on them, and it took Stiles a few seconds to decide that either this was some kind of alternate reality, bizarro-land Derek standing in front of him, or he'd changed into some old clothes he'd left behind from when he lived here.

And Stiles was seriously considering the Bizarro-Derek option because… He'd _changed clothes?_ Not only was he _not_ dying, but he'd had time to rethink his wardrobe? While, what, an invisible Nogitsune floated around outside the train car, taunting him?

Derek's eyes skated down Stiles and back up, and there was something strangely open about him, strangely vulnerable, and Stiles wanted to come up with something clever or thoughtful or even just _useful _to say but his throat felt tight and by the time he could drag in a fresh breath Derek's gaze had already slid away to Scott. Stiles slid his own gaze to shoot his friend a puzzled look, but Scott was busy setting his shoulders and staring Derek down with an expression that looked downright suspicious.

"What's going on, Derek? Where's the Nogitsune?"

And just as Derek had magically appeared on request, so did the demon, stepping from the train car and falling to a stop at Derek's elbow. It still twisted up Stiles' brain to see a copy of himself standing around, doing things his brain wasn't telling it to do, and in an odd moment of confusion, Stiles felt his own stance shifting to echo _its_ movements.

Its arms were crossed as it hovered at Derek's side, and Stiles had just enough time to think _wait, something's wrong there_ before Argent's bolt released with a twang.

Time actually seemed to slow as it strafed through the air, and the demon caught Stiles' gaze, its eyes blazing fearlessly, lips quirking. It did nothing to avoid getting impaled, and that was probably a really bad sign, wasn't it? That it wasn't even worried enough to try moving out of the way… And then Derek's hand was lifting, a blur of motion, and snatching the bolt from the air an inch from the Nogitsune's head.

Stiles felt like the earth was wobbling under him again.

Derek's eyes scanned across the demon's face, thoroughly, like he did when he was checking one of the pack for injuries. And there was a hint of victory in the way the demon held Stiles' eyes, chin lifting, before it turned and and sent Derek a grateful look. And that desperate vulnerability flickered back into Derek's eyes and _god_ did they just dart to demon-Stiles' lips?

(But no, he was checking for injuries. And injuries could be anywhere, even on someone's lips, and that thought was the only thing that would keep Stiles sane right now… except why the hell should Derek care if the Nogitsune's damn mouth was injured, because…)

Stiles' arms were wrapping tightly across his chest, and he knew it looked nothing like the demon-him's casual stance now because he felt like he was holding his own guts from spilling out onto the floor.

Because this was… this didn't… why was he looking like… they were supposed to be…

"Derek," and his voice was definitely coming out too loud and too high and enunciating way too much. Did he always sound this shrill? "What _the_ _hell_ is going on?"

The arrow snapped in Derek's fingers. The Nogitsune's shoulder twitched, brows lifting in a way that seemed to say "don't look at me. It's your problem, deal with it."

And as bizarre as it was to be so casually dismissed by his own alter-ego, it made even less sense that Derek was looking to it at all.

Except that… the demon's shirt was too big. And once Stiles noticed it he couldn't _un_notice it – the way the sleeves hung too long over his hands, half-covering them, or the way the body of it fell loose across his frame. Exactly the way it looked when a girl came in to school wearing her… wearing her _boyfriend's_…

Stiles mind blanked out for a few blissful seconds, and when he came back to himself Argent was repeating, much less frantically, Stiles' Very Important Question.

"What's going on here, Derek?"

Derek's eyes had squeezed shut at some point, like the question was confusing him, or something inside his own head was confusing him, before he dragged in a rough breath, opened his eyes, and met Scott's gaze, open and honest.

"I know you came here to help me, but you don't have to. Everything's fine."

Stiles felt a laugh bubbling up because things were definitely _not_ fine, but he clamped down on it because the demon's expressionless eyes had slid from Derek back to Stiles, and Stiles wouldn't give it the satisfaction of seeing him break down. Not again.

Scott's jaw was working the way it did when he was desperately trying not to start shouting, but it was Argent who spoke up again, voice deadly even.

"What did it do to you, Derek?"

Derek's eyes went from Scott to Argent and Stiles felt a rising frustration that Derek was looking everywhere but at him. Because how could he justify standing there next to his doppelganger, catching arrows for it and lending it shirts and… doing other things. Probably almost definitely other things. And he wouldn't even _look_ at Stiles?

"It's not like it was before," Derek said quietly.

"Before?" Argent echoed, dropping the crossbow to the ground and drawing one of his guns instead. "You mean when it infected you with such blind, consuming rage that you tracked me down and tried to burn me alive?"

Derek's hand clenched, shoulders rolling, eyes sparking brief flashes of pain-regret-anger-conviction and it was wrong so see him so animated, to see every emotion rippling through his frame like this. It was like whatever big, extra-thorough Derek filter usually lived in his brain had packed its bag and made a blind run for Vegas, leaving behind a raw, exposed nerve for everyone to see. He twitched and shivered with each new emotion, and Stiles' hand itched to reach out and touch his shoulder, to try and soothe him, steady him… but the demon's hand was already lifting, dragging firm and rough down Derek's arm.

Derek caught the hand, clenched around it, and some desperate part of Stiles waited for him to shove it away… but no. He was holding tight, clutching it like a lifeline as he steadied his gaze at Argent.

"You're not hurting him."

_Him_. Like it was a person. Well, it had lived inside Stiles' head for weeks, and he could definitely confirm that it was _not_ a person. Argent was grimacing.

"It's a killer, Derek."

"We're all _killers_," Derek snarled, teeth turning fanged, eyes gleaming bright blue, and he dropped the demon's hand, shifting to stand between it and Argent like he'd be willing to catch a bullet for it too if he had to.

"This thing is different. You're not thinking clearly." And even though Argent didn't know the story behind Derek's blue eyes, he didn't seem to believe for a second that Derek had a hint of evil in him. Stiles was starting to decide he really liked this guy, as intensely scary as he sometimes was. Maybe he was just intensely scary enough to knock some sense back into Derek. "The Nogitsune kills for pleasure. Kills to amuse itself. You knew that a few days ago. We talked about it, remember?"

"You… you said you'd be willing to kill Stiles if the Nogitsune did too much damage."

And he was still talking, still acting, like Stiles wasn't even in the room with them, and it was reaching the point of seriously pissing Stiles off. Stalking forward a step, lifting one hand to wave sharply in the air, he snapped:

"Well I, as Stiles, officially approve that sentiment. What the _hell_, Derek?"

Finally, Derek's eyes fell back on him, fading from blue back to silver-green… and as much as he'd wanted it a second ago Stiles didn't know if he could handle the raw emotion suddenly focused on him. He stopped short, arm flopping bonelessly back to his side, the breath going out of him as he was hit with a tsunami of _desperation doubt guilt loneliness longing_… and so much more, too intense to describe, too overpowering to do anything but fall headlong into and hope never to hit the bottom…

He might've let out a soft sound, and Derek might've made a small movement toward him, but then a shadow came between them, blocking the sight of those eyes, and Stiles squeezed his own shut and remembered how to breathe, and when he opened them again Scott was standing between them. And Stiles didn't know whether to be grateful or seriously pissed off.

He didn't _need_ protecting.

Which, ok, was totally untrue since everyone in this room could shred him alive in five seconds flat, including Chris Argent. But that hadn't stopped him from diving headfirst into danger before, and he didn't need Scott jumping in front of him like a bodyguard now.

Not for this. Not for _Derek_.

Derek seemed to share the sentiment, closing in on Scott, and Stiles could hear the wolf taking hold as he snarled "_move_."

"No way. I'm not letting you near him while you've got an evil rage bug or whatever in your head."

Stiles inched to the side but Derek's attention was locked on Scott now – blue against red, and he was bristling, shoulders rolling, and a moment later he'd launched himself forward.

The Alpha was smaller but faster, and when Derek slammed into him he rolled with it, flipping them both until Derek was pinned under him. The victory lasted about a second before Derek's open palm hit Scott in the face, making him reel back.

"That's _not_ what this is," Derek snarled, shoving the still-dazed Scott off him and going into a crouch.

Blinking brown-again eyes, blood dripping from his nose, Scott matched his stance.

"Then what is it, Derek? Why are you acting like this?"

"Because I_ feel like it_."

It could've sounded petty, childish, but the way Derek said it, it was like… like he couldn't help feeling it. Like he'd never felt this much, this powerfully, before. And the way Derek's eyes had been screaming, how could any of them doubt it? Whatever had been done to him this time, it hadn't brought out his rage. It had brought out his _everything._

The Nogitsune's eyes were gleaming, and Argent looked like he was trying to decide whether he should try shooting it with his gun or make another attempt with the crossbow.

And it was all so stupid because this should've gone differently. Derek should be standing with them right now. Fighting the enemy that'd infiltrated Stiles' mind, that'd kidnapped Lydia, blown up the police station…

"Derek," Stiles snapped, "it _killed Allison._"

Everything went so silent so fast that Stiles fought the urge to make a pointless sound just to make sure he hadn't randomly gone deaf. Argent wasn't looking at his gun anymore, Scott's shoulders had slumped, and Derek… Stiles almost didn't want to look at Derek. Because if he did and Derek didn't care… if he was really that far gone…

Or if he did care, and his eyes were bleeding _that_ emotion the way they'd been with everything else tonight…

He finally forced himself to look over, but Derek wasn't looking at him. He'd pushed himself silently back to his feet and was staring uncertainly at the fox.

It inclined its head, one shoulder twitching upward.

"Well, technically an Oni did, but… yeah. Pretty much."

Derek took one slow step toward it, dreamlike; another, more firmly, and by the time he reached the demon he was moving so fast that Stiles barely saw the fist moving as it cracked across its jaw. It fell back three steps into the side of the train car and Derek followed it forward, slamming his fist into a second time, grabbing it by the collar and hoisting it up as it started to stumble. It didn't seem to mind, smirking up at him through bloody teeth (and oh, _that's_ what Stiles would look like if he were a total deranged psychopath. Good to know). Derek lifted his hand a third time, claws extending, arm tensing to stab straight into its chest...

And then the rage bled away, and Derek released the demon with a halfhearted shove, and turned to face Argent.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know what it is to lose family."

Understatement of the century. _Stiles_ knew what it was to lose family. He'd lost his mother and he'd barely survived it.

The two men in front of him had lost nearly everyone.

And so there was no one in the world who would understand better when Chris Argent lowered his gun, met his gaze evenly, and said:

"Then let me kill it."

Derek hesitated, shivered faintly. Eyes drifted down briefly, searching.

"I understand that you want revenge, Chris. You want him dead." His head shook, gaze flicking back up. "But I don't."

"_Why_?"

He shrugged, and there was no anguish in his eyes now, only brutal honesty.

"I lose everything. This is what I have."

And that was a whole new level of devastating.

The Nogitsune made a soft, tutting noise, licking the blood from its teeth and stepping forward.

"That's touching, Derek."

His shoulders rolled.

"It's true."

"I know." It smiled faintly, fingers going out to trail along his hip. Derek's eyes slid shut. "And believe me, I love it."

"_Stop _it." And Stiles was moving forward, skirting Scott's belated grab for his arm, getting right in the demon's space and _shoving_ it. The creature stumbled back, holding Stiles gaze unflinchingly, lips quirked in that unbelievably annoying, knowing smile that never seemed to go completely away. And this was it, it was gonna kill him, this was how Stiles was going to die… but he had other things to worry about, turning and grabbing the front of Derek's worn blue sweater and shaking it (the shirt moved, Derek didn't).

"This is crazy," he snapped. Derek's eyes were still shut, his stance unreadable. Where had all the overflowing emotions gone? "You're being crazy. You don't lose _everything_. I mean, ok, maybe your track record's not the greatest. But you know what's _not_ going to help? Hooking up with a freaking killer demon."

Finally, Derek's eyes fluttered open, and Stiles steeled himself for another barrage of tortured emotion. He wasn't sure how to react when the look that hit him instead was soft, warm, and… what was that? _Happy?_

And Stiles suddenly recognized the true danger of the infection running through Derek, because when Derek's lips twitched they didn't seem sarcastic or bitter or cynical or self-deprecating, or any of the Hale Smiles that Stiles knew so well. It was warm, light, sincere.

_Because I feel like it._

Because Derek felt like smiling, so he did. And for a split second, that was everything. That was all that mattered. There nothing else floating around in his head, weighing that emotion down.

This, just in this moment, this was what Derek might have looked like if he'd grown up in a normal home. If he hadn't been orphaned at seventeen, or betrayed, or beaten and tortured more times than Stiles even wanted to think about. And Stiles wanted to hold onto that expression forever, even as he knew he should reject it because it was wrong, it wasn't really Derek, it was demon magic messing with his head. But… god, it was making him _happy._

And Derek was reaching forward, grabbing the back of Stiles' neck and tugging him a stumbling step closer and—

_Oh god_, Derek Hale was hugging him. He'd officially tumbled into Bizarro Land. Stiles' hand was still between them, clutching Derek's shirt, and he could feel his own heart pounding through his ribcage. And was that Derek's heart racing too? Or did werewolf hearts just naturally beat faster than humans'? Had he read that somewhere?

He couldn't think straight, not with Derek's hand clasping the back of his neck, fingers shifting, caressing just slightly, the other arm wrapped not-quite-crushingly around his waist. Stiles was melting away into a soft gooey little mush puddle – goodbye world, this was _actually _the end. And that was before Derek pressed a lingering kiss against his forehead, tilted his chin to look into his eyes, and breathed,

"I love that you care, Stiles."

He couldn't get air. Was this actually happening?

Because holy shit, he'd thought brooding Derek was hot. This was… captivating.

He needed to say something important, now, while he had Derek's attention. Something meaningful, something that would change everything.

What came tumbling out, soft, fast, and desperate, was "Derek, you've got to come back with us. Ok? We'll… we'll get Deaton to help you, like he did before. This isn't you." It _wasn't him_. He'd die for acting like this when he got back to normal. Probably kill everyone who'd stood witness to it, too. It was demon magic; Stiles couldn't let himself enjoy it. Couldn't take advantage of it. Couldn't act like the goddamn Nogitsune.

"You don't really want to be like this."

Disappointment flickered through Derek's eyes – that Stiles hadn't said something else; that he didn't understand.

The hand fell from Stiles' face.

And no, wait, no he was taking it wrong, Stiles had _said_ it wrong. That's not what he meant. But Derek's eyes had clouded and the hands that had been holding Stiles were shoving him back. He stumbled, his own hand losing its grip on Derek's shirt, and he would've hit the ground if Scott hadn't been there to grab him, steady him.

The Nogitsune made a soft, satisfied sound.

"Well, I hate to leave in the middle of such a fine little drama, but it's almost dawn."

"What, you're a vampire now?" Stiles snapped, throat feeling tight. Derek's eyes were shooting daggers into him, and he couldn't find a way across the ditch he'd just dug between them. He should've said something else. Why hadn't he said something else?

Why wasn't he saying it now?

Argent spoke up, and there was nothing left in his voice that was careful or neutral.

"He's scared to stand in front of us without his Oni lurking in the shadows."

The Nogitsune smiled lightly.

"No good playing the general when your troops have turned to dust. Derek, am I leaving you with your… rescuers?"

_Yes._

"No."

"Derek…"

But Derek had turned away, and Scott's hand was on Stiles' arm like a vice.

"Alright then. Christopher, condolences about your daughter. I can honestly say there's a part of me that was very fond of her."

Scott's grip on his arm tightened, whether because of the demon's words or the fact that Stiles was jerking as hard as he could to get free, he didn't know. Scowling, Stiles spun to Argent.

"Can you freaking shoot it, already?"

The man gritted his teeth and raised the gun, but with literal puffs of smoke a wall of Oni were suddenly standing between them. Like nothing had happened, the demon continued brightly.

"Scott… don't worry, we'll chat again soon. And tell your girlfriend – you know, the new one – that I'm looking forward to seeing her again too."

And ow. _Ow._ That was definitely gonna bruise. Stiles made a sharp, pained noise and Scott released his death-grip, face pale. Stiles was so focused on his friend and the pain in his arm that he didn't see the last thing coming, which he really should've.

"And Stiles…" The demon's hand was on Derek's shirt now, the same way his had been seconds before. Derek jaw was clenched but when the demon pressed their lips together he fell into the kiss willingly, moving from angry to hungry and desperate like he'd forgotten he had an audience the second their lips touched.

He probably had.

But there was no way Stiles was forgetting. Every sound, every movement, was burning into his brain in a way he knew he'd never be able to scrub clean. Because it was _hot. _ And it sucked. And Stiles' mind was already working in overdrive, wondering _if I'd just leaned in, could this have been me? _Or was he just the one who got the rolling eyes and the forehead kisses, and the frantic, moaning, hungry mouth kisses were something special reserved for evil demons who sapped out Derek's emotional control with evil bugs?

A faint whine escaped Stiles and the demon pulled back, breathing heavily, trailing his nails down the rough stubble on Derek's face and sending a lazy smile Stiles' way.

"Don't worry about your friend. He's in _very_ good hands."

There was a heartbeat where Stiles physically _felt_ his soul withering up, and then Argent breathed something that sounded vaguely like "screw it," and started firing off rounds. The Oni had swords drawn and were blocking at blinding speed less than a second later. Scott snarled, grabbed Stiles' arm and jerked him backward before launching himself into the fray.

Past the chaos of battle, Derek was watching the action, following the Oni's movements like he wanted to dive in, himself. But then the Nogitsune leaned in to breathe something against his ear, and he gritted his teeth, nodded tightly. An Oni went sailing through the air and Stiles dodged out of the line of fire, and when he looked back toward the train car, Derek and the demon were gone.

.-

**A/N: **I'm not even going to be subtle here. Please, _please_ review. This chapter was crazy, difficult, and exhausting to write, and I'm dying for whatever feedback you have.


	3. Lifelines

**III  
****LIFELINES**

Derek's soul was a mosaic of conflicting nerves all the way from the rail yard, snapping between focused calm and frantic emotion. For long stretches he'd run silently, before snarling without warning and slamming the demon into the nearest solid object. And there was never any way of knowing whether a hot mouth or a fist would be crashing into the Nogitsune almost until it was gone.

They were both fast, savage, desperate, and tasted like battle. Both left the demon's skin aching for contact as Derek jerked away as fast as he closed in and went back to moving.

And then a moment later he'd be back again, hands grazing and clenching across the demon's skin, desperate for an anchor, desperate to wound.

The demon devoured the chaos, could have gone on forever like this, but the human voice inside eventually reared up, let out a breathless laugh.

"I get it, you're mad at me."

Derek's too-sharp teeth grazed over its shoulder, nipping bites in his flesh, tearing at the borrowed shirt – second of the night ruined, if anyone was keeping track.

"I wanna fucking murder you."

"Oh, but that's not even a little bit true, or else you would have. Tried, anyway."

It leaned to capture Derek's lips again, but he pushed himself back, eyes going distant. Back toward the rail yard.

The demon sighed, dragging itself off the stretch of wall and smoothing down the rumpled, oversized shirt.

"They're not going to kill anyone, Derek. I told you, we just needed them to guard our exit."

"They killed Allison_._"

"Oh come on." It smiled, light and fond, moving to circle Derek, get back in his line of vision. "You didn't have any love for Allison. You couldn't stand the way she divided Scott's focus, the way they reminded you of your past mistakes. She hated you for killing her mother, for revealing the truth about her sweet Aunt Kate. You'd barely gotten to tolerating each other."

Derek's hands clenched.

"She didn't deserve to die."

"Most likely not," the demon agreed with a shrug, arms crossing. "Most people don't. It happens anyway."

That finally drew Derek's eyes back: lost and desperate and so exquisitely tortured, and the demon had to physically stop its next breath from shuddering out because _mon dieu, god, kami-sama, _fuck. Had anything ever been as beautiful as those slowly shattering eyes?

If the demon hadn't taken Stiles as host, would it still be standing here? Feeling this? _Wanting_ this?

It thinks so. It thinks it would at least be intrigued by Derek. It thinks the centuries-old draw to chaos is more important than a twisted echo of a child's year-old crush.

And this might have been the first time the Nogitsune had ever felt the need to distinguish between the two.

Derek's eyes were dragging fast and frantic across its face now, trying to pull together whatever tired, moral argument he felt he should be clinging to. But the infection was still sparking through his mind, burning out all the unnecessary filters people imposed on themselves and leaving nothing but raw honesty behind.

"I care about Scott," he growled, finally. "And Chris."

"And they're both still standing, aren't they? Come on, Derek. Would I kill someone you really loved?"

Those eyes flashed, anger thrilling deliciously through the air between them.

"_Yes_. And you'd sit back and smile while it tore me up."

The demon stepped close and traced a finger down Derek's rough jaw. He flinched but didn't retreat, lifting his chin and watching the demon warily.

"Mm… I love that you understand me so well. Except I wouldn't sit back. I'd pull you close and taste every bit of that sweet torment until you weren't sure what you were feeling anymore. But Derek, this is very important, alright? So listen."

Slowly, achingly, the demon leaned closer.

"If I was going to kill any of them," it said, holding the wolf's wary gaze, "I would do it in front of you. I would put on such a glorious show of destruction that your life's previous tragedies would seem like a runny nose in comparison. You are the single most important thing in my life now, Derek Hale. And if I were going to destroy you, you would deserve nothing but the absolute pinnacle of my efforts."

It leaned in one last inch, placing a lingering kiss on Derek's stiff mouth. Pale eyes followed the movement, unblinking.

"So you don't have to worry about my Oni killing any of them, alright? I may be a trickster, but I won't lie to you."

There was a pained flutter of emotion – hope and revulsion and lust and relief – and when the demon leaned in again Derek kissed back, lips slow and unsure, eyes wide and wary, hand moving up to clench the front of the demon's shirt like he wasn't sure how close he could stand to be, but knew he didn't want to let go.

He would come around. He'd understand eventually.

Neither of them ever needed to be alone again.

.-

Stiles blinked, his vision refocusing as they pulled to a stop at the edge of the street.

"We're at _my_ house," he said slowly, startled. Scott shot him a look, wide-eyed and wary. He'd been doing that all ride, ever since Stiles had handed over his keys without a fight and gone to huddle in the shotgun seat while Scott shared some last words with Chris Argent.

Stiles had noticed the looks; hadn't bothered reacting.

What the hell was there to say?

He felt numb.

"Yeah," Scott said, softly. Using his extra-gentle voice, his 'let's comfort the wounded animal before Deaton starts stabbing and sewing at it' voice. "I figured you might want to rest up here instead of my place. And here." He reached into the back seat, pulled forward a duffel with a worn pillow sticking out the top. "Brought this along just in case."

It was such a simple, stupid gesture but it cut through the numbness like a goddamn Oni's sword. Left Stiles' chest aching and his eyes prickling embarrassingly, and he grabbed the duffel and turned away fast, pushing his way out of the car.

He couldn't be like this. He had to focus.

…But what the hell was there to do?

Scott got out more slowly and took his time circling the car, giving Stiles a chance to gulp in a few deep breaths and blink back the tears threatening to spill out. He didn't comment on the way Stiles' arms were death-gripping the bag across his chest or how every third breath or so still shuddered uncontrollably, as he led the way to the door and used his own key to let them in.

And this was stupid. This was so stupid.

Before tonight he'd never expected anything from Derek. He'd barely even qualified what he felt as attraction. Just a general appreciation of – or even annoyance at – the way the jerk's body and face were pretty much the most perfectly sculpted things he'd ever seen. And so what if he'd been left fantasizing a few (dozen) times about the way it felt when Derek slammed him against a wall and leaned in, or shoved him out of danger's path, or stood, snarling, between him and an out of control Beta? All that stuff just kind of begged for a bit of teenage dreaming, didn't it? He'd probably feel the same way if… if _Jackson_ had done any of that stuff.

And Derek was annoying, too. The way he'd smirk and snark like he was so goddamn superior. The way _nothing_ was ever easy with him. The way he'd act so unbearably frustrating that Stiles would be ready to write him off altogether, and then turn around and show just a flash of how brave and wounded and _human_ he was…

And worm his way a little further into Stiles' own wounded heart…

Damn it. Damn Derek.

Damn this whole fucking month.

He didn't know how long he'd been spacing, didn't even remember dropping the bag or following Scott into the kitchen, but the microwave's beep jolted him back into the world enough to feel the damp trail on his cheek, and he dragged a hand across his face, blinking fast.

Scott was taking a mug out of the microwave, sticking another in, and rummaging through one of the cabinets for a box of tea.

"I could use a different kind of drink." Stiles' voice came out thick and rough, and then he laughed because…

This was so stupid.

_ He _ was so stupid.

"God, Scott, I'm such a jerk. This whole thing, this whole thing is so…" stupid. But he couldn't bring himself to choke out the word. "I should be taking care of you. I should be making you tea. I mean, I didn't lose anything. I never had… this is…" He stopped, cut himself off before his voice broke. Drew a breath. "_You_ lost—"

"No." Scott cut him off, putting the cup down sharply on the counter. Maybe, Stiles thought as Scott's hands clenched into white fists, so he wouldn't break it. "Not yet. We can't… talk about that yet."

Stiles swallowed, drew a breath. It came in easier this time. It was easier to focus on his friend's pain than his own.

Because Scott deserved to be hurting. Scott's pain was real; it mattered.

Not like this ache in Stiles' chest, born of nothing, bruised by nothing. Because that's all he'd ever had. _Nothing_.

_ Stop it. _

_ Stop thinking about it. _

_ Stop being so goddamn selfish. _

"Scott," he said, pushing himself slowly off the edge of the doorway. "You can't just… compartmentalize the pain away. You're not—"

The microwave beeped again, making Stiles jump and blink at it. Scott went over – carefully controlled movements – and took out the mug, filled another, and stuck it in.

Stiles followed the action, worry for his friend mounting. 'Cause that was the third mug, and last he'd checked, there were only two of them.

Was this some kind of coping thing? He'd read that people baked or cleaned sometimes…

"Scott…"

The front door opened less than a second later. Stiles spun, ready to… well probably dive out of an assailant's way and hope Scott could handle it. But Chris Argent was coming through the front door, striding past him into the kitchen and dropping his keys on the counter like he belonged there. His brows rose at Stiles' startled look.

"Scott told me to come right in."

Stiles glanced toward his friend, who was busy steeping a tea bag in the second cup with focused precision.

"Scott didn't tell me you were coming."

The wolf in question turned, placing the two cups in front of Stiles and Argent. Stiles had chamomile tea; Argent had black.

It seemed like a significant distinction.

Stiles eyed the cups, then looked back up. The world snapped back into a focus he hadn't seen since the rail yard.

"Uh, no. No way."

The microwave beeped a third time and Scott pulled the last mug out, adding a black tea bag to his cup as well.

"Stiles, it'll be better if you don't—"

"_No_," he repeated, pointedly nudging his mug away. "No way. If you're going back out, so am I."

"You were practically catatonic on the way here," Scott pointed out, reasonably. Stiles grimaced.

"Yeah, well. You know, it's dawn. And none of us have gotten any sleep. And I have been pretty sickly, battling post-possession aftershocks and all. So sue me, I was tired. Give me some of your tea, or better yet, I'll brew up some coffee for all of us and I'll be good to go."

Scott didn't dignify that with more than a set of briefly raised brows.

"Ok. And maybe I was also a little…" Stiles' fingers dug against the table. His tongue dragged out, licked his lips. He couldn't. He couldn't lie to Scott, even with someone else in the room. "…freaking devastated. Because that sucked, ok? That whole… _that_. It sucked. Seeing that thing that screwed with my head, screwing with _his_ head…" The tears were prickling his eyes again – frustrated, angry, embarrassed – and he tilted his head back, blinking them away. "But when the hell have I ever sat something out just 'cause it's hard?"

And then, because he wasn't a coward, he _wasn't_, and it didn't hurt that much anyway, he flicked his gaze from Scott to Argent.

And the gentle understanding in the hunter's eyes almost killed him.

He looked back at the counter, forcing his next breath not to shake.

"Dude," Scott said, quietly. "It's not about what you're willing to handle. It's not safe for you."

"I did fine with the Oni." Dodged and ducked out of the way while the others fought, mostly. But he hadn't been in serious danger or anything.

There was a short pause while Scott and Argent exchanged looks.

"It's… not the Oni," Scott said finally. "Or the Nogitsune."

"Stiles," And now Argent was talking to him, gently, and he just wanted to burrow a hole for himself and crawl into it forever. "You understand that, whatever that thing did to Derek, he has no filter right now."

"I can handle that." They were silent again, and he looked up. Scott was staring at his tea, a resigned set in his jaw. _Not safe,_ he'd said. "You think he's gonna _hurt_ me?"

"We don't know what he'll do." Scott was still looking down. "That's the point. I mean, if he attacks one of us, we can fight back. You know? He attacked me already. If he dives at you…"

Stiles looked away, pressing his lips together.

"I can't sit this out, Scott. If he hits me… I'll take the punch. I mean, he's not a killer."

Argent's cup clinked hard on the table, making both teens look up.

"_Every one_ of us in a killer," he snapped. "In flashes, in seconds. In that quickly fading impulse to pay someone back or just shut them up in whatever godly way possible. Don't tell me you've never had the urge to beat someone senseless, or throttle them, or run them over with your Jeep."

It was too much like what Derek had said at the rail yard. Stiles hadn't liked it then, liked it even less now. He raised his chin, meeting the man's gaze.

"Yeah, I'm a teenager. So like, every day. But I'd never actually do it."

"Exactly," Argent replied, leaning both hands on the table, holding Stiles' eyes. "Because you can filter it. Can repress the urge and it's gone a second later. You can laugh about it afterward. Derek doesn't have that ability. If he wants to hurt you, even for a second, he'll do it. If he gets angry, impatient, frustrated, he'll do whatever needs doing to make that feeling disappear." Stiles' mind went, against his will, to all the times he'd made Derek angry, impatient, frustrated. It was practically the foundation of their relationship. "Scott, the Nogitsune, even I to an extent, have a chance of fighting Derek off until the impulse goes away. But you don't have that ability. He'll tear into you without a thought, without holding back… and he'll regret it a second later. Maybe it'll destroy him. But none of that will be any use to you when you're bleeding out in the dirt."

Scott's mug shattered. He turned away to the sink, cursing.

"Wow," Stiles said. "Ok. Thank you, Mr. Argent, for that vivid imagery."

"You need to understand how serious this is."

"I'm aware." He'd been inside the demon's head. He knew more than anyone how dangerous it was, what it could do. What it could make others do.

"Then you get why you have to stay here." Scott had turned back to Stiles, shirt spattered with tea stains and the odd, ceramic grain. His expression as broken as the mug in the pale, post-dawn light. "You have to promise you'll stay out of this. I can't worry about fixing it if I'm worrying about you, ok?"

It kept coming back to him being human. The weak human who needed to be sidelined, protected. Even though all this was his fault.

And now he was hurting Scott too, and Scott was hurting enough already. He gritted his teeth, forced himself to back down.

"Fine. Ok. Whatever. Look, the important thing is to find Derek, so…"

Scott stepped forward, looking a little too hopeful. Forced hope. He reached out to squeeze Stiles' shoulder.

"We'll save him. Ok? You just have to trust us."

He couldn't handle their eyes anymore. The too-bright hope, the pained, pitying looks… especially from these two. Especially today. _Let them go,_ Stiles thought. He'd deal with this his own way.

"Fine_. _Alright."

"So you're gonna stay, and rest?"

"Mmm."

If he could track Derek down, if he could just knock some sense into that thick head... God, if he could bring them back to that moment when Derek had smiled at him, and just say the _right thing_ this time… maybe…

Or maybe Derek would rip his throat out like he'd promised to do so many times. Hey, maybe the Nogitsune would throw a curve ball and just kill Stiles, himself.

But he had to try. This was his fight. The Nogitsune was wearing _his_ face, damn it. Had been inside his head. Had used his hands to kill people.

…Was using his face to mess with Derek?

Maybe. Or maybe it was just preying on Derek's loneliness, his stupid guilt complex. His belief he didn't deserve better. Either way, Stiles could fix it. Could (_smack some sense into_) reason with him.

He had to try.

Scott's eyes were too knowing as he stared Stiles down.

"You'll stay _here_?"

"Scott, what am I, a dog? 'Here,' 'stay.' Just… go find Derek."

Scott let out a relieved breath, and Stiles felt a twinge of guilt. He hadn't _exactly_ lied.

"Ok, good, because your dad should be here any minute, and—"

_ Shit. _

"Wait, what? You called my _dad?_"

Argent sighed.

"Of course I did."

Like it should have been obvious. And maybe in Grownup World it was.

But Stiles had expected more from Scott. Expected him to know better, to talk Argent out of an idea like that.

Because his dad had way more than enough to worry about already. Because Stiles' supernatural crap had been enough of a burden on the man, and making him sit around the house, wringing his hands and playing the awkward sick nurse would bring up even more bad memories to add to what was already a towering mountain.

And Stiles didn't know if he could take it. The idea of sitting here doing nothing was bad enough without having to explain to his dad _why_ he was sitting here doing nothing, and why his eyes kept tearing up uncontrollably, and why Derek might be dangerous all of a sudden…

"He's going to stay here with you today," Argent continued, totally oblivious to how much damage he'd caused. "And make sure nothing gets into the house."

"Or out?"

The man inclined his head.

"Well, we don't have to worry about that, do we? We have your word you'll stay."

The sound of a truck pulling up outside made Stiles' eyes squeeze shut. He wasn't prepared to deal with this. He hadn't even seen his dad since yesterday, since before Allison. And so much had happened since then. It felt like ages had passed. Felt like seconds.

"I remember, you know," he said. Because it was tearing at him, because Argent had to know, because he wouldn't be able to say it once his dad came in. "Everything I did as that thing, once it finally took over. It's hazy, it's muddled, but I remember. And when that fly went into Derek… Isaac and Aiden and Ethan, they were so easy. Their rage was so obvious. But Derek was more…" He felt bile burn his throat, clenched his teeth. Forced his eyes open. "Was more _fun._ Because as much… deep seated rage as he has toward your family, it was battling against this real respect and friendship he felt for you." Argent was the one looking away now, and Stiles paused until the man drew in a slow breath and looked back. "Are you planning to kill him?"

Argent sighed. And his eyes were so tired.

_ He'd lost his daughter last night. _

"He asked me the same thing about you, you know." Argent shook his head. "Only if I have to."

"You don't have to." Stiles' gaze went from him to Scott, standing against the counter amongst the shards of broken china. "_Don't._"

.-

"Why here?" Derek followed the demon slowly into his own loft. He'd been here just a few hours ago, the bloodstained couch and bits of torn bandage reminders of recent activity. But the space felt strangely alien to him now, too wide and open, bare. Empty. It felt like a stranger's home.

It felt _abandoned_.

Did he really live like this? Was this all he'd leave behind when he died – a bloody couch, a few books on demonology and a bed?

It had always seemed so practical. Don't get attached to things; don't put down roots. Be able to throw everything you owned into a duffel and run in five minutes flat if you had to.

Derek faltered just inside the doorway, while the demon pulled the door shut and strode past him into the loft.

"Simple subversion of expectations, Derek. If you're known to be on the LAM, the last place people will look for you is your own loft. I also used this space before; they'll expect me to be more creative, which is exactly why I shouldn't be. Dear Peter's off on a Very Important Mission of self-discovery, if I'm not mistaken. And our scents are all over the area, leading to and from the building in all directions; it'll confuse any attempts they make to track us."

Derek watched as he… _it,_ moved across the Spartan room, trailing careless hands over every beam and object it passed, filling up the space, marking it like it owned it. His mouth felt dry, eyes trailing after the fingers. He followed it slowly forward.

"You thought this through."

"I'm a trickster, remember? Outwitting other people's pretty much my MO."

It reached the table and paused. Stiles' chessboard still lay there among the research books, and the demon's lips quirked at the sight of it. It lifted a stray white pawn, trailing and weaving it between the pieces until it came to rest in front of the black king.

"And speaking of subverted expectations, Derek, that was a _heartwarming _little moment with my former host, back there."

The pawn tapped the king, toppling it. Derek shivered. The demon turned to face him and, head tilting, tossed the pawn, and Derek caught it, frowning.

"It was so sweet," the demon continued. "So _soft_. I thought you didn't want soft."

The memory sparked and burned in his mind. His hand clenched, the wooden piece buckling in his grip.

"Shut up."

The Nogitsune ducked its head, grinning, and crossed the room back to Derek in slow, stalking steps. Moving in close and catching Derek's eyes in a way it felt impossible to break free of.

"No regrets, Derek. Learn from your mistakes and move on. You've been lusting after a _child_. A naïve little boy; and trust me, I know. I've lived with him. He can't begin to give you what I can."

Part of him wanted to flinch away. Part of him wanted to deny or fight, or _laugh_, because this was all so ridiculous. When had the war for Beacon Hills' continued existence turned into this muddled mess over Derek's failed romances?

_ Or just _ _leave… _part of him always wanted to leave, but when it time came to move he just couldn't pull together the willpower to do it. Too much of him was clinging to this like a lifeline.

And now again he found himself caught, grounded and floating, in those eyes, as the demon's hands trailed up his arms, claiming him like they'd claimed the loft.

Then something shifted subtly; the lifeline falling away, becoming something else. The _demon_ became something else._  
_

Arms going to loop his neck loosely, its body – usually crowding so close against Derek's – hanging back, shifting and unsure.

"But I can be soft if you want," it breathed. And everything about its manner had changed. Eyes going wide and unfocused. Lips parting, tongue sliding to wet them, mouth staying open and gulping in breaths like it was suddenly hard to get enough air.

"Derek…" The voice a little high, a little breathless. The arms tugging faintly, restlessly, on his neck. "Please…"

Derek was reacting, the broken pawn tumbling to the floor, hands going to grip his sides, whole body buzzing as he practically lifted Stiles' light form, tugging him closer. The eyes were wide, nervous, wondering and wildly hopeful… and they repulsed him as much as they captivated him.

He couldn't. He couldn't deal with the trust there. How many people were dead from trusting him?

And then his mind caught up, and his grip tightened on the demon's waist, nails biting.

"I thought you said you weren't going to lie to me."

It smiled, the wild hope burning out in those eyes as fast as fast as it had come.

"That's not _lying_, Derek. It's bedroom games." Its grip tightened around his neck and it tugged itself forward, breaking out of Derek's hold with hardly an effort and ghosting their bodies together. Mouth going to Derek's ear, lips dragging.

"Do you want me to be Stiles for you? You can dominate the fragile, oh so earnest human. Make him feel things he never imagined." Its words were coming out in breathless gasps, its whole body shifting and surging restlessly, hips rolling without quite touching, chest barely brushing Derek's with every ragged breath.

"Show me what to do, Derek. Teach me."

Derek shoved it hard, eyes blazing. Shuddering the desire away.

"I don't want you to be him."

The Nogitsune tilted its head, rubbing a hand across its chest.

"Well, I guess I have to believe you. The question is _why_?"

There was no coherent answer. Just an instinct – fear, shame, revulsion.

All Derek could do was drag together a ragged "Be _you_."

Its lips curled.

"I can do that."

.-

Scott's hands were death-gripping the armrests so hard that Chris heard them collapsing.

His eyes stayed carefully on the road, and he tried not to question the wisdom of bringing Scott along on this.

He was still just a boy.

Seventeen.

_ Just like— _

But he was also an Alpha werewolf, and Chris wouldn't be able to handle this alone.

And he had no one else left to ask.

Exactly one hundred feet before the intersection, he flicked on his turn signal. Slowed to fifteen miles per hour, made the turn, accelerated.

"We might have to kill him," he said, clipped and even. "If he chooses to protect it, to fight us. This is too important to let personal feelings get in the way."

Scott was silent for so long Chris thought he might be ignoring him. Then…

"Maybe personal feelings will be what fixes it."

He really was just a boy.

If it came to a hard choice, Chris would have to be the one to make it.

A pained whisper in his mind told him this was all too much; too much, too fast. More than anyone should have to deal with. Then years of training kicked in, locking the voice down until he had time to deal with it.

There was a dead fly on the windshield. Chris flicked on the wipers, watched it scrape away.

He'd trained all his life to make the hard choices.

He was prepared.

.-

TBC

**A/N: **Please review, guys! I'm not _entirely_ sure I'm happy with this part, and I'd love your feedback.

If I could do it again I might've added another scene in there, rearranged something a bit and left you with a different cliffhanger. But this is how it is over on AO3 and I can't have the versions being too different, can I?

Don't worry, there's some exciting stuff coming up next chapter.


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